GREAT RUSSELL STREET, COVENT GARDEN. FIVE MILES OFF. or THE FINGER POST, 25 VALENTNE and ORSON, is ód HORSE and the WIDOW, 1s 6d SIGHS, or the Daughter, Comedy, 28 6d CAPTIVE of SPILBURG, 19 6d THREE and the DEUCE, 25 YOUNG HUSSAR, Musical Drama 1 16d PEASANT BOY, an Opera, 28 6d YOUTH, LOVE and FÖLLY, is 6d HERO of the NORTH, Hift. Play, 25 6d by T. Dibdin. by P. Hoare ROYAL OAK, Hifforical Play, 25 6d. J. SHIPWRECK, Is by W. Dimond, jun. by J. S. Arnold. LONDON HERMIT, or Rambles in Dorsetshire, 2s 6d IIFE'S VAGARIES, a Comedy, 23 6d IRISH VIMIC, or Blunders at Brighton, is 6d LITTLE HUNCHBACK, is 6d TONY LUMPKIN in TOWN, is 6d BIRTH DAY, or, the rince of Arragon, is 6d COUNTERFEIT, 25 "} by Cumberland. 2 by O'Keeffe. by Holman. od} by Arthur Murphy. WAY to KEEP HIM, a Comedy, 28. VORTIGERN, an Hiftorical Tragedy,reprefented at the HENRY the SECOND, an Hiftorical Drama; supposed BOLD STROKE fɔ a HUS AND, by Mrs. Cowley, 25 THE SULTAN, or a Peep into the Seraglio, IS SIXTY THIRD LETTER, by W C Oulto2, is 6d OF AGE TO-MORROW, a Farce, is 6d 43. THE SCHOOL FOR FRIENDS, a Comedy, by Miss Chambers, 28 6d OURSELVES, a Comedy, by Ditto, 2s 6d. YES OR NO! by J. Pocock, Esq. is 6d ANY THING NEW? ACT I. SCENE I.-A Country Village.-Soldiers discovered. OH! CHORUS. H! merry is a Soldier's life, To foes he'll never yield, He little knows of care and strife, Then march away With spirits gay, Sometimes we fight, Sometimes we play; None on earth can live so merrily, While the drum and fife sounds cherrily, So a Soldier's the life for me. [Exeunt. As they march off, Enter PETER BABBLE. Peter. But a foldier's not the life for me-glad they're gone-ftaid in our village long enough— I'm no man of war-wanted to make me one tho' -got drunk laft night, made me valiant-never fo when fober-wanted me to 'lift-thank ye for nothing, fays I. Oh! here comes Fanny-could lift to her for ever-Nature formed me for Love, not War. Pretty girl-plump as a pullet-rofy cheeks-black eyes lips red as a cherry-love to see her pout 'em -long to kifs 'em. Enter FANNY TRANSIT. Ah, Fanny-how do Fanny Fanny. What, Mr, Babble-(stupid fool, he's always in the way)-taking leave of the foldiers? Peter. Yes, French leave-they're off-fond of peace and quietnefs-domeftic happiness-roast beef-a wife-two or three little children-fire-fide, pipe, and a newspaper Fanny. Where you can read of battles without danger, and enjoy comfort without the trouble of de.erving it. Peter. All men are not born to fight. I never could Fanny You never tried, I'm fure of that Peter. True-I'm a peaceable man-hate furgery-saw a boxing match once-beat one another to mummy-then thook hands-beft of friends.The winner rode away on a barouche-box fide of my Lord-not cramm'd infide like a coachman. Plague on fuch friendship, fay 1-No-I ferve my friends in another way-advife 'em-if they don't -take it can't help it-no fault of mine Fanny. And thus you efcape after fetting the best of friends by the ears; you pretend vafl fincerity to all your neighbours, and tattle the fecrets of the village from one to another, like an old maid at a teas table, doing more mifchief in ten minutes than you can mend in ten months. Peter. What a tongue; but I must marry-mother faid I muft-poor foul-fhe had a tongue too Fanny. Haven't you teazed me to accept you inftead of Oliver Whitethorn; with your friendthip as you call it; but though I've fet my heart on a foldier, and Oliver is only the fon of a poor gardener, depend on it I'll never marry fo peaceable a man as Mr. Peter Babble, the perfumer's fon. Peter. 'Twas my duty to perfuade you against him. Your uncle was a great man-a rich man. Now, don't think any more of this Oliver. What would Mr. Sidney fay on his return, to find his neice grafted on the ftump of a cabbage-but mum's the word!-I fay nothing. Hey! who's here-another woman-two tongues !-I've only one-good bye, Fanny. Enter ELLEN WHITET HORN. Ellen. Hey-day! Mr. Babble and Mifs Fanny Tranfit quarrelling! Why, he told me, you were the best of friends. Peter. So we are, but always quarrel-proof of love. Fanny. Love! Ellen. Love! why, haven't you fworn to me time out of mind, that nobody but I should be your wife. Peter. Did I?-fhort memory-don't recollect— however, fecond thoughts are beft-Any Thing New -befides, not made for each other-I am not hand |